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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27075187">Wingless dragon</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ray_Murata/pseuds/Ray_Murata'>Ray_Murata</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Before the Blight [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dragon Age, Dragon Age: Origins</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alienages (Dragon Age), Child Neglect, Child Warden, Gen, Past Domestic Violence, Poverty, warden's past</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-09 01:14:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,491</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27075187</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ray_Murata/pseuds/Ray_Murata</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"Nevarra," Alec said when Alistair asked him where he was from; if he remembered his family before the Circle. It was always one of the first things people asked when forced to work together. Especially humans. They had a habit of thinking one's blood defined who they were. What did it matter: blood, or distant pasts? "I was young when my father was taken into the Circle, though, and my mother sent me to Ferelden with a relative. She was a chambermaid for the daughter of a famous Pentaghast -- I can't remember his first name now, but he was a dragon hunter. It always struck me as curious, the idea of hunting dragons for a hobby. But come to think of it... Do you reckon dragon hunting would help us prepare for the battle against the Archdemon?" </p><p>It was second nature to him, now. Lie and deflect. He knew that eventually, Alistair would realize he hadn't told him the truth. Maybe he would question why, and Alec would mock him for even falling for it in the first place. Alistair would call him an asshole, and that would settle it. It would be funny. It would be worth it.</p><p>What wasn't worth it was sparing the memories of his childhood home even a single thought.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Before the Blight [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1976050</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Wingless dragon</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This drabble is a peek into Alec's life with his uncle in Highever, and the circumstances under which his (healing) magic began to blossom.<br/>Please be cautious of the tags, as this touches on domestic violence, emotional abuse, child neglect, poverty, and alcoholism. Keep yourself safe, first and foremost.</p><p>Thank you Em, Liv and Rey for beta-ing this for me!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Wingless Dragon</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The door slammed so hard it shook the whole house. It was a curious thing -- that the planks loosely nailed to the walls to cover the windows in winter kept falling apart in a woodworker’s house. Alec didn’t understand, and he didn’t question it. He rolled out of bed fully dressed in layers of second-hand shirts, for it was too cold and the covers too thin. With soft steps, he reached the door and pulled it slightly open, peeking through the chink into the living room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Archie staggered inside, his manner slow and careless like it always was when he came home with the sun. He did not take off his big coat, white flecks of snow on his shoulders, dripping into the house. He walked up to the table and stared down at it for a minute before acknowledging Syl’s and Threnn’s presence in the kitchen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is breakfast?” Archie asked, raising the single boiled egg from the plate and holding it up in front of Syl’s eyes. “You call one fucking egg breakfast?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Syl mumbled under her breath, lowered her gaze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Archie bit off half of the egg, and wobbled his way around the kitchen, opening a couple of cupboards. “Empty. Empty... Didn’t I buy groceries just one of these days, huh?” He groaned, cussed, and wolfed down the rest of his breakfast before swinging open another cupboard. It’d been </span>
  <em>
    <span>weeks</span>
  </em>
  <span> Archie had brought home a crate of fresh fruits and vegetables, Alec thought. His uncle didn’t always know what day it was, though. And </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything</span>
  </em>
  <span> was always his aunt's fault anyway. “What have you done to it all? Fucking useless bitch,” Archie called, reaching inside a cupboard and pulling out a bundle of drying carrots. His grip was wonky, and the carrots knocked down a mug. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The strident shattering of porcelain had Alec skittishly withdrawing into the bedroom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He covered his mouth, heart racing, the sudden fear of being found eavesdropping freezing him in place. But no one had taken notice of him at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even though he’d stepped away from the door, noises reached his ears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The dragging chair, the rushed steps, Syl’s soft voice. “I’ll clean it. The-the carrots, they… They’re for lunch. I’ll-- I’m going to-- A carrot soup would be good, don’t you think? We don’t really have anything fresh anymore. And the grains, they… If you could give me a few more coppers today before you… Before--” she mumbled something, “the tavern.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Smack. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Alec flinched. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Thud.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Money?” Archie scoffed. “Why don’t you get a job? If you can’t-- You think I shit sovereigns?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I--” Syl’s voice dissolved into a squeal. Porcelain shattered once more. Metal clanked against wood, and rolled down to the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get your fucking coppers and buy something to make a decent meal for once.” There was a pause, and Alec tiptoed back to the door, watching as Archie slumped down on the chair in front of Threnn. “What you looking at?” He hissed at his son. “What’re you even doing sitting there like a fucking idiot? Where’s your criminal shit of a brother?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” said Threnn. Alec could only see his cousin’s back, but he could tell his voice was small. Not at all like it usually was when Archie wasn’t home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He doesn’t fucking know!” Archie repeated loudly, banging his wrist on the table. “Your sons are just as fucking useless as you -- Can’t do one fucking thing right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Threnn stood up. “Dad, I-- Don’t think you should--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Archie’s voice rose above Threnn’s, grave and filled with hot red rage. “Don’t you fucking talk back to me, kid!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Threnn’s shoulders dropped. “I’mma go find Bran. He said he had a good job last week and maybe…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe what? Maybe he’ll keep your stupid mom from starving us all to death, eh? Eh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Threnn scurried away like a rat running from the cat. The cold wind of the alienage seeped into the house as the door opened and closed again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alec retreated into the room, lying back on his mat. Bran's furs and clothes were still there, but he was never home anymore, not even to sleep. He was always out with his gang -- The kids of the alienage that always fucked up enough to bring the city guard over. </span>
  <em>
    <span>As if we needed them breathing down our neck any more than they already do,</span>
  </em>
  <span> everyone said. Archie himself always said that Bran was a no-good thief that was going to get killed by humans any day now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then there was Threnn. He always left the house 'to find his brother', only to come back when he knew Archie wouldn’t be home anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alec would go out, too, if he could. But it was cold and he was hungry and Hannah’s mom didn’t let them play together anymore. He didn’t know why. He didn’t know where he’d go. And either way -- first he’d have to make it to the door, and he didn’t want to leave the bedroom. Not now. Not yet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he sat there, and pulled from under the dresser two of Bran’s old wooden toys. The knight was so aged it was green with mold, and the dragon didn’t even have its wings anymore -- Not since Alec had found them in a corner of their shared bedroom, maybe a few months earlier.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But if Alec tried really hard, he could see the knight’s green, shiny armor, and feel the warmth of the dragon’s breath. Its vicious roar muted the sounds from outside, and when the knight finally managed to slay the dangerous creature and find the treasure, the house was once again still.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Except for the snores.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was when Alec ventured outside the bedroom. Archie lay on the furs in front of the fireplace, deep asleep in the warmth of the dying embers. Syl was sweeping up the kitchen floor, now free of porcelain shards. Alec approached gingerly, soft steps not to wake up his uncle. He pulled a rag from his aunt’s bucket and began wiping the table the way she had taught him to, in one of the many times they cleaned up together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Syl sent him a soft smile. Her right cheek swollen and bruised, her left hand wrapped up in a reddened rag. Alec pretended not to see any of it, and rubbed the cloth on the wooden surface with both of his freckled hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Syl rested the broom on the wall and searched the cupboards for a pot. She rifled through the clay containers on the counter, pulled an egg from a little wooden box, then filled the pot with water from the kitchen basin. She dropped the egg into the water, then quietly -- as quietly as a ghost -- sneaked to the fireplace, leaving the pot to boil over the fire. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alec’s stomach growled, and his eyes widened in anticipation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Syl placed her index over her lips in a ‘ssh’ before she resumed sweeping. He cleaned the table, then followed her into the bedroom to help her tidy it up. His heart stopped, however, when he realized he had forgotten to put the toys back under the dresser.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are these doing here?” Syl asked in her small voice -- which was weird, because they didn’t always talk. Not with words, anyway. “It’s about time we threw them away.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But they’re mine now,” Alec mumbled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Syl cocked her head at Alec. “Where did you get these?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alec’s face heated up in embarrassment. "I-- I found them."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If Archie finds out -- he’ll be so angry. He made these for Bran, you know? When he was a boy. He'll say that -- That you're stealing things from his sons. He'll be angry,” she said, almost panicking. “It’s better if we just throw them away.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tears welled in Alec’s eyes. He gulped, looking up at his aunt, pleading silently for her not to do it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This one you can’t even recognize, Alec. I’m sorry, but they ain't worth the risk. You should go out and make some friends instead of staying holed up in here playing with Bran’s old toys.” Her voice didn’t lack compassion, but Alec couldn’t understand it. Why? Why was it so bad for him to keep the toys? He liked them. He couldn’t go out in winter. He didn’t--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Syl wrapped the toys in a dirty shirt and Alec took a step forward -- raising his voice without even realizing it. “Auntie, no, please, I--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Archie grumbled in the living room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As if hit by a spell, Alec and Syl both turned into stone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another grumble followed the </span>
  <em>
    <span>thud</span>
  </em>
  <span> of something falling down to the floor. Steps. Syl hid the toys behind her back just a moment before the door creaked open and Archie frowned at the pair of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s boiling?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Syl gulped. “An-- An egg. I… I found another.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You found another?” Archie asked suspiciously. “Just like that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She tried to go about her business, picking up Bran’s mantle from his bed. “Yeah. I… I’d forgotten.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Archie frowned. “So you’re making me another egg?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence. Alec’s stomach growled again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alec,” Syl said. “It was for Alec.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Archie scoffed, taking a step towards Alec. “Yeah. Like we didn’t already have enough mouths to feed. You’re just like my whore of a sister, leeching off other people, you know that? Apple don't fall far from the tree round here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>More silence. Syl folded a shirt. Alec lowered his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Archie poked Alec’s forehead. Not hard, not enough to hurt. Alec’s heart raced all the same, sweat dripping down his neck, fear robbing him of words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alex, Alex," he tsked. Alec's jaw clenched. Archie flicked one of his eyebrows. "You’re old enough to go do something for yourself. If that’s even possible for a fucking simpleton like you. You’ve got this family’s cursed blood, you know? It’s all just a bunch of fuck ups. Me, your mother... You.” Archie laughed, but it wasn’t a fun sort of laugh. “It's why she left you. You ain’t ever gonna be shit, so she probably thought you weren't worth the trouble. But me? I'm generous, Alex. I let you stay here, and I feed you and I take care of you. But your stupidity ain't no excuse for you not to pull your weight, kid. A lotta humans out there need errand boys, so you better get a job soon because food don’t come free.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to wash these at--” Syl tried saying, walking past her husband.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Archie turned on his heels towards her. “You ain’t going no-fucking-where, woman. And you--” he turned back to Alec. “Stop leeching at least for one day. Go somewhere else. I don’t want to see your face here again today.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alec’s eyes widened. Go where? Out in the snow? Now?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can-can I get a… a coat?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He wants a coat! Do you want fresh fruit and a drakeskin cape, too, now?” Archie sneered. “You wouldn't even <em>have</em> the clothes you're wearing if I didn't work my arse off for it. Now scram, kid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alec searched for Syl’s eyes, but she wasn’t looking at him. He nodded weakly, and rushed out of the bedroom. He stopped in front of the door of the hut, bracing himself for the winter outside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And still, the cold caught him off-guard. He wrapped arms around himself, made his way through the streets of the alienage without really knowing where to go. He knew where Bran would hang out, sometimes, but he was too scared of the people he associated with to go there. And it wasn’t like Bran or Threnn would give a damn about him, anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So instead he sneaked inside Fanaroth’s store, and begged the old elf to let him clean his floor and counters in exchange for a piece of bread. It wasn’t even the first time. At least when he was there, he could sometimes run into the old man’s grandkids. Some days, Nelaros would ask him if he wanted to jump rope at the back of the shop with him and his cousin Nesiara -- He figured it was only because they needed someone else to hold the rope, but that was okay. At least it was fun. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Up until that one time Alec heard them snickering behind his back -- He always felt like running when he remembered it, and his cheeks always turned red when he saw Nelaros. He was pretty and had all these nice clothes and he went to the Chantry every day, too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alec was nothing like them. It was why they laughed. Because he was stupid and couldn’t make sense of the alphabet, and his clothes were big and dirty and he smelled so bad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smelled even worse when he came back to Archie’s house, drenched and shivering and not starving only because Fanaroth had spared him a warm bowl of soup as well as bread.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alec slipped inside carefully, and nothing but silence greeted his ears. He breathed out easily, hurrying into the bedroom before the spell was broken. He changed into a clean shirt, then sat on Bran’s bed, contemplating the emptiness of the house. He was supposed to be happy Archie wasn’t home, but his heart was cold like ice, and he didn’t know why he wanted to cry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wiped his eyes before the tears trickled down his face, then fetched a hammer to nail the fallen plank of wood back to the broken window. He placed the timber horizontally, covering the open chink that allowed that awfully freezing draft inside. He thought maybe he was good at woodworking, too. That was probably the only thing he could become… if not a criminal like Bran. Maybe if he learned woodworking, he could make himself another knight, and another dragon -- this time with real wings. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alec placed the nail just right, held it tight, and brought the hammer down with full force.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Only to slam it against his own thumb with all of the strength of an underfed seven-year-old.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His pained shriek echoed, the timber and hammer and nail all dropping to the floor. Alec wrapped his left hand around the fast swelling thumb, pacing about until it didn’t ache as much as what he thought losing an arm would. Eyes full with tears, heart full of anger, he kicked the plank of wood away and then crawled his way back into his furs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t want this anymore. He hated woodworking, hated Archie, hated everyone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he curled around himself, something hard poked against his leg. He lifted the blanket to find the wingless dragon carefully hidden on his sleeping mat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tears streamed down his cheeks. He just wanted the cold to go away, and Archie to go away, and that awful pain to go away. Thumb still throbbing, heart drowning in what he didn’t know whether to be bleakness or hope, Alec buried his face in the pillow and cried himself to sleep.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>&lt;3 7-year-old Alec then spends a good while chatting with a Spirit in his dreams and, the next morning, the swollen thumb is perfectly healed when he wakes up and he's, like, "=O!"</p><p>Thanks for reading &lt;3 Comments always appreciated!</p><p>I've worked on a few more short works depicting Alec's (and Sky's) childhood and I have many more planned, so I'm putting this in a series called "Before the Blight," which will probably be populated with more drabbles in the future!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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